In Town

SOMEWHERE there's a willow budding

In a hollow by the river,

Where the autumn leaves lie sodden,

Turning all the pool to brown;

There's a thrush who's building early,

With his feathers all a-shiver,

And the maple sap is rising —

But I'm glad that I'm in town.

Somewhere out there in the country

There's a brook that's overflowing,

And a quaker pussy-willow

Sews grey velvet on her gown;

Rushes whisper to each other

That marsh marigolds are showing,

And those saucy crocus fellows —

But I'm glad that I'm in town.

Long ago, when we were younger,

How those little things enthralled us;

King-birds nesting in the hedges,

Baby field-mice soft as down,

Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows —

Strange how all these voices called us!—

Hark, was that a robin singing?

When's the next train out of town?